


Cobalt

by mimbleful



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, Dark Comedy, Horror, M/M, it gets quite dark at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimbleful/pseuds/mimbleful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco skips a class by taking a nap in the Forbidden Forest, his life changes ... forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cobalt

**Author's Note:**

> For Mel, without whom this never would have been written. Seriously. Blame her. She goaded me on the entire time.
> 
> Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

Draco was tired, so he decided to skip herbology and sneak into the fringes of the Forbidden Forest for a catnap. As he was dozing off in a handy beam of sunlight, a strange cawing sound startled him. He reached for his wand and looked warily around - unfortunately, he didn't think to look directly behind him at the tree that he was leaning against. Just when he thought that he was safe a strange ticklish sensation ran across his neck, followed quickly by a sharp pinch. Yelping, Draco slapped the back of his neck frantically. His fingers met a strange fuzzy creature and he ripped it from himself, throwing it to the ground.

"Oh," he said aloud with a self conscious laugh. "Thank Merlin Crabbe and Goyle weren't here to see that. Imagine if they'd seen me get scared because a tiny blue caterpillar decided to crawl down my robes." He straightened his robes, and decided to sneak back into the castle to take a nap in an abandoned classroom, where the only pests that he'd have to deal with were ghosts.

That night, Draco couldn't sleep. His joints ached, his face felt like it was floating inches from his skull, and every time he moved he felt like his skin was covered in sensitive bristles. When he finally heaved himself out of bed the next morning, his room mates gasped in horror.

"Draco!" Blaise said, looking nauseous. "You're blue! And fuzzy!"

"What?" Uneasy, Draco looked down at his hands. They were most certainly blue. And fuzzy. “Oh," Draco said, and promptly fainted.

He woke in the infirmary, the familiar smells of cleaning spells and a vague sense of distantness that came with calming potions relaxing him. Until, that is, he remembered the last thing he'd seen. His eyes snapped open and he looked down at his body in horror. Still blue. Still fuzzy. He must have made some sort of noise (most definitely not a squeak though - Malfoy's didn't squeak) as Madame Pomfrey appeared around the corner of his privacy curtain.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy, you're awake at last. Tell me, have you encountered any strange animals lately?"

Draco was too afraid to even come up with a convincing lie, so he quickly admitted to shirking class the day before to take a nap. He described the blue caterpillar that had crawled down his neck as best as he could remember, the uneasy feeling in his gut growing stronger every minute. Madame Pomfrey hadn't even frowned at him when he'd admitted to skipping class! This was something very serious.

"And then I went back into the castle," Draco finished up. "How long am I going to stay blue for?"

Madame Pomfrey sighed. "Oh Mister Malfoy. If you had come to me directly after being bitten yesterday, I could have given you a cure for this condition immediately. Unfortunately, the toxins have had too long in your system. You'll die if we try to reverse the changes you've undergone - the shock will be too great for your body to handle."

"So I'm stuck like this?" Draco said incredulously. "Forever?"

"Well," Madame Pomfrey said, and was she uncomfortable? Madame Pomfrey never hesitated to tell patient’s bad news. "Not forever. This is an intermediate stage, actually. You'll find that as the seasons of the year change you will shift slowly from a full human to a full man-sized caterpillar. You are a were-pillar now, Mister Malfoy."

"Oh," Draco said faintly. "Of course I am."

"Now, you'll find that you have to stick to a straight diet of vegetables from now on. There's no telling what meat products could do to your delicate system. After all, caterpillars are herbivores." 

Draco made a face. He hated vegetables. He'd have a house elf bring him a steak when she wasn't looking - one measly steak couldn't hurt anything!

Draco spent his nights in the infirmary for another week, dutifully returning to Madame Pomfrey and her diagnostic spells between every class. He got a few strange looks from his classmates, but this was Hogwarts - where things went wrong all the time. His classmates weren't going to bother saying anything beyond the normal terrible jibing. Even Potter, the idiot, had given him a sympathetic smile when they'd passed in the halls. Draco had ignored him.

What Draco was really worried about was what his parents would do when they found it. The only Malfoy heir, a were-pillar? His children might turn out to be were-pillars too! Or strange hybrids! They might come out completely fuzzy! Or with antenna! Antennae like the ones that were currently growing slowly and slightly painfully out of Draco's forehead.

"Yes," Madame Pomfrey said sympathetically as she passed Draco a numbing lotion to spread on the painful area. "Those will sprout every springtime. You'll keep them until fall, when the were-pillar side of you starts to retreat for winter."

"What if I move to Antarctica?" Draco said desperately. "Would I stay human all year long if I live in a cold climate?"

"I'm afraid not. Your cycle is tied to the Cobalt Caterpillar's, and will be no matter where you go. The transition will be easier to deal with after this first time, though, once your body knows what to expect."

That was it, Draco decided. He was going to have to be gay. The gayest pureblood there ever was. There was no way that he was going to pass on this - this - curse to anyone.

When a howler showed up at breakfast and he was summarily told, very publicly, that he would no longer be welcomed at Malfoy Manor, Draco couldn't find it in himself to be more than a little bit sad. He'd miss his mother, absolutely. But he hadn't been looking forward to the inevitable "Where is your heir" discussion with his father. Plus, who knew how the Dark Lord would react to a were-pillar in his midst. No, this was good news, Draco told himself over and over. He wouldn't be pressured to procreate, and he wouldn't have to be some sort of strange magical attraction for the Dark Lord to examine.

The first night that Draco was allowed to sleep in his own bed instead of the infirmary, his closest friends threw him a small party. Because of the Howler Incident many Slytherins had taken to avoiding Draco. This was absolutely fine with him, though, because as the weather turned ever warmer and his body transitioned from human to caterpillar, his senses had become more and more fine tuned. He was beginning to sense emotions from those around him. A twitch of his antennae and he could tell that Pansy was stressed about her latest Divination mark, or that Goyle was feeling a little flu-ish, or that Blaise was lusting after some little Ravenclaw thing, who in turn was lusting after Potter (of course she was). Potter himself seemed to be lusting after -

Oh.

Well.

That was interesting.

Draco pondered this new information for weeks, gathering evidence. He could sense disgust from more than a few of his classmates now, as his transformation progressed. Surprisingly, the Gryffindors seemed to care the least out of any of the houses. The Ravenclaws projected distant interest, the Hufflepuffs barely seemed to notice, the Slytherin's seemed to look upon with some betrayal (and even his closest friends were at times mildly disgusted by him, which he could understand. He was a giant blue caterpillar, after all. The week that his extra arms and legs had grown in had been particularly disturbing.)

For the most part, though, the Gryffindors just treated him as they always had. Certainly, this was with disdain and revulsion from people like the Weasel, but Draco could tell that this was because he was still "that git Malfoy" and not because he was a giant fuzzy bug.

And the one person who he kept waiting to sense revulsion from never provided him with it.

Finally, he cornered Potter in the hallway that connected the library to the great hall. Most students and staff avoided this particular hallway because Moaning Myrtle had started haunting it after a sixth year had hexed her away from the Prefects Bathroom.

"So, what is it exactly?" Draco drawled, startling a completely oblivious Potter.

"Malfoy? What do you want?" Potter demanded, shoving his ridiculous spectacles up his nose. Hadn't he ever heard of a vision-repair charm? Honestly.

"You're not disgusted by me," Draco said. It hadn't been what he'd been meaning to bring up, but the Other Thing ... well. He could build up to that.

"Should I be?" Potter asked, confused.

Draco laughed bitterly. "Pretty much everyone else is." He waved a few of the arms on his right hand side. "Have you seen me?"

"Of course I have," Potter retorted. "You're standing right in front of me. But you're still the same Malfoy, just with more arms and legs and blue fur." He shrugged. "Hermione turned into a cat for a week."

"What? When did that happen?" Draco asked, distracted.

"A few years ago now," Potter responded. "She got better though."

"Well, obviously." Draco scowled at Potter and crossed his top four sets of arms. "I, on the other hand, am not going to get better. I am going to continue to be a caterpillar for a month, and then I'll slowly shed all of this, and I'll be human for a few months. And then," Draco took a deep breath, and said the thing that he'd been reluctant to admit even to himself, "And then it will begin all over again! For four months out of every year I will be a giant CATERPILLAR! How does this not disgust you?"

"I told you," Potter said reasonably, the sympathetic concern rolling off of him in waves. "You're still you. All of that," he waved vaguely at Draco, "is just surface stuff. It doesn't change who you are."

"How remarkably Gryffindor-ish of you," Draco said faintly.

Potter shifted uncomfortably. Draco watched him carefully. "Maybe you should go talk to someone," he said uncertainly. "About this whole thing. I mean, you obviously have a few issues to work out. And it can't be easy, having been kicked out by your family."

Draco stiffened. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it Potter," he snarled.

"Well, you did ask for it," Potter shot back. "And in my opinion, you need to talk to someone. This is a big deal. I know wizards like to act like things like this are everyday, and sure, sometimes they are. But that doesn't mean that you don't need help adjusting!"

"Oh spare me your righteous indignation," Draco said, suddenly tired. "Pomfrey is insisting I come see her once a week and 'talk things out'. Now shut up, someone's coming."

Potter opened his mouth to protest, and Draco sent him a glare that, surprisingly, worked. A moment later a pair of first years rounded the corner. Their quiet whispers stopped the moment they caught sight of the two older students. Instead, they burst into giggles, and hurried past Draco and Potter.

"How did you know they were coming?" Potter said when the first years had vanished around another corner.

Draco waved a set of arms at his antennae. "Sensed them," he said shortly. "They were broadcasting for ages before they got here. One of them's particularly stressed about something. What?" Draco said, irritated at the strange expression on Potter's face.

"You can sense people's emotions now?" Potter asked.

"Oh sure. It's all just pheromones," Draco said dismissively.

"All emotions?"

Draco grinned wickedly. "Why yes Potter," he purred, taking a step forward. An antennae twitched. "And I must say, you're the only person who's been broadcasting that particular emotion in my direction since I started changing. What is it, fantasising about what all the extra hands could do?" He reached out with four hands and traced them lightly down Potter's torso. It had taken a little while to get used to having so many limbs, but they were quite handy, especially at times like this. Potter flushed red, but didn't move away.

He cleared his throat. "I told you, Malfoy," he said, clearly forcing his words out. "Underneath all of that, you're still you."

Draco blinked. That had not been the reaction he'd been expecting. Potter took advantage of Draco's shock and stepped out of reach. "I have to go," he said gently. "Come talk to me when you've had a chance to think things through."

Draco holed up in the infirmary for the next few days, complaining to Madame Pomfrey that his second set of legs were aching. It was a bit hard for her to catch him lying at that, since this was the first case of were-pillar in recent history. (According to the records, there had been a surprisingly large amount of them in the 1600's - there was something about magic which seemed to invite human-animal hybrids. In fact, a whole colony had been established. Unfortunately, they had died out when a raiding party of were-wasps had descended upon the poor colonialists and massacred the lot of them.) Pomfrey documented the symptoms carefully, and prescribed muscle relaxing potions and bed-rest.

Potter showed up on the third day with an armful of rolled up parchment.

"Your assignments," he said simply, dumping the pile haphazardly by Draco's bedside.

Draco shot him an incredulous look. "You volunteered to bring my assignments?"

Potter squirmed. "Not exactly. I accosted Parkinson and told her I was on my way up here anyways. And then I told her that Henrickson - that Ravenclaw that all the girls seem to rave about - was looking for her."

"Very Slytherin of you," Draco said, but he didn't meet Potter's eyes.

Potter cleared his throat, and sat in one of the chairs that Pomfrey had provided. "I just wanted to make sure that I hadn't upset you," he said carefully. "The other day."

Draco snorted. "What on earth would I have to be upset about? Apparently you're attracted to giant blue bugs. If anyone should be upset, it's you. That's a very strange kink."

Harry sighed. "I told you," he said with forced patience. "It's not the bug thing." And, with typical Gryffindor-ish pigheadedness he pushed onwards with a conversation that anyone else would be quite capable of telling Draco did not want to have. "It's a you thing. I've been attracted to you for ages. I have no idea why, really, because most of the time you're a complete ass. But sometimes you're nice. When you don't think anyone's looking. And sure, it probably started out as a physical thing, but -" and here was the hesitation "- I don't know. I've always thought that you could be a nice guy if you tried to be."

Draco looked at Potter. Really looked at him. At his earnest expression. At his open greener-than-grass eyes. At his messy cow-licked hair. At his glasses that sat skeewiff, as usual, on his nose. The broad shoulders and the large, capable hands. The tan from afternoons spent practicing quidditch in the sunlight.

Finally, he found his voice.

"You," he said slowly, "are a complete idiot. I am not a 'nice guy'. I will never be a 'nice guy'. That's the sort of thing that stupid twelve year old girls tell themselves about the boy that's mean to them - oh he's a nice guy underneath it all! He just doesn't know how to express himself!" Draco scowled at Potter. "Well let me tell you, I know perfectly well how to express myself. What you see is what you get - pure, unadulterated Draco Malfoy." He sneered. "There is no nice guy underneath this prickly exterior. There's just me."

And Potter, fucking Potter, just smiled at him. "I know," he said.

And then, and then! Potter reached out and laid his hand upon one of Draco's. Draco froze at the touch. "Now that your father isn't dictating your every move, it really is just you. Don't you see? Right now, there is just you - Draco. This whole were-pillar thing isn't some sort of curse. It's a blessing. You probably don't want to hear this, because they're your parents, but you're free now. You're free to make your own choices. You don't have to become a Death Eater now. You don't have to be a monster."

"Get your hand off of me," Draco snarled, every single one of his fists clenching. "You may not get this, Potter, because you don't have anyone who loves you in your life. But my father never wanted anything but the best for me. It's only because I'm a monster now that he's turned me away. If I'm ever cured, he'll welcome me back with open arms."

Madame Pomfrey finally kicked Draco out of the infirmary on the fifth day. "Some exercise will do you good," she said cheerfully. Draco just moped. Potter's words ('you're free now ... you're free to make your own choices") kept repeating in his head like he'd gotten lost in a pensieve. He avoided Potter and his cronies in all of the classes that they had together. From the looks that Granger and the Weasel gave him, Potter had obviously shared their conversations. Pansy stuck close to him all day long, glaring at anyone who looked at Draco strangely - it was as if the school had to get used to him all over again, like they'd forgotten about his change while he'd been back in the infirmary. It didn't help that the transition was now complete.

That night, Pansy threw him another party, bedecking the common room with gaudy singing streamers and organising a small feast with the house elves.

Draco tried to be cheerful, but as his oldest friend Pansy quickly saw through the fake smiles. "What's wrong, love?" she asked, looping an arm around him. "You've been out of sorts all day."

Draco sighed and tilted his head back against the couch. She'd even decorated the ceiling, he noticed. It was crawling with glowing bugs. Just the right side of tacky. 

"Do you think that I'm better off now?" he asked her quietly. He closed his eyes, but that didn't stop his sensitive antennae from picking up the shift in her emotions from mild concern to outright worry.

"What do you mean?"

"Potter said -" he hesitated here as a frisson of alarm shot through Pansy's pheromones. "He said that I'm free now. Free to make my own choices about the Dark Lord. That I'm better off without having to worry about my father's approval."

Pansy was quiet for a long moment. "I think he might be a little right," she said tentatively. When Draco didn't immediately explode, she continued with more confidence. "I mean, you don't really want to become a Death Eater, do you?" She leaned closer and whispered into his ear, her warm breath almost uncomfortable against his furry skin. "I know I don't."

Draco opened his eyes and turned enough so that he could look Pansy right in the eye. "So you think he's right?"

She nodded.

"When did you and Potter get to be on speaking terms, anyways?" she asked lightly, obviously trying to change the subject. "Normally one of you is hexing the other before a minute has passed."

Draco snorted. "Apparently, that's Potter's way of saying he likes someone. Heaven forbid he get a crush on a teacher. He'd be in detention all the - actually, do you think that's what's going on between him and Snape?"

Pansy, predictably, squealed. "A crush?" she said loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone else in the room. At Draco's elbow, she leaned back in and whispered, "He's got a crush on you?"

Draco nodded and flicked an antennae in her direction. "I can read pheromones," he said with a sigh. He knew he'd be getting the third degree from her for not sharing that information sooner. And sure enough, there was the expected scowl.

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised. And you obviously like him back. So was there kissing?"

"What?" Draco sputtered. "I don't like him back!"

"Oh please, Draco." She rolled her eyes. "You've wanted Potter as your own ever since before you knew who he was. Remember that day you were robe shopping? You met me afterwards at Ollivanders and wouldn't shut up about the scruffy little boy you'd met. And you're not exactly good at expressing your feelings either, you know. The first time we met you threw a toad at me." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "That's how I knew we would be friends forever."

"You are a horrible friend," Draco said, and crossed all eight sets of his arms.

"Oh really?" Pansy grinned broadly and reached over to a side table. "Would a horrible friend have snuck you a delicious steak from the kitchens?"

"Pansy!" Draco gaped. "How did you manage this?"

"I'm a Slytherin darling," she said airily, and handed the plate over. "I'm capable of so much."

Draco hadn't had a single bite of meat since he'd turned. The house elves had been under strict instructions not to give him any meat no matter how much he threatened them, and Pomfrey had been testing his blood every day so Draco hadn't thought it worth the risk. But after the day that he'd had, the delicious steak that Pansy had scrounged up for him would be worth the scolding that Pomfrey would inevitably unleash upon him. It smelled divine, and his mouth began to water the second he cut into it.

The meat melted on his tongue, juices running down his chin.

"Really Draco," Pansy said with a laugh, "You should save some of those noises for Potter."

"I would marry you if I hadn't decided to be gay," Draco said very seriously.

"Oh darling, I've known you were gay since you were eleven years old." Draco ignored her and devoured the steak, savoring each bite.

Between Pansy's incessant good cheer, a steady supply of perfectly cooked steaks and a surprise cache of butterbeers, the rest of the party passed quickly. Draco pushed any thought of Potter out of his mind until he was lying in bed, the Crabbe's soft snores and Blaise's whistling exhales a familiar lullaby.

'Tomorrow I'll talk to him,' he decided, stomach wonderfully full of warm meat. He didn't know what Pomfrey had been so worried about. 'And since he's the only person who could potentially still be interested in a relationship, maybe I'll talk to him about that, too. Maybe.'

He had strange dreams that night.

He dreamt that he rose from his bed, a strange hunger filling him and forcing him across the room to where Goyle slept, curled in on himself. He moved quickly, and with his many hands ripped Goyle's arms off. Goyle woke with a scream that Draco silenced by twisting his head off. It was like ripping apart a leaf, Draco mused. He'd moved too slowly though, and the others were waking up. No matter, Draco thought as he shoved a chunk of arm into his watering mouth. He would have gotten to them eventually.

He moved through the dungeon, feasting on the others. Some he devoured, like the little girl who'd fallen asleep in the common room. She tasted like rose petals. Some he immediately spat out, like Professor Snape, who had run into the common room and blasted Draco with something that stung like nettles - he tasted like acrid berries, left too long in the sun.

Draco moved through the castle, tasting every person he came across. They kept waving at him, flinging bright lights at him that ruffled along his fur softly. Some shouted. Some screamed. Some cried. Madame Pomfrey looked at him with open mouthed horror.

She tasted like dried tulips, but he ate her anyways.

He travelled up, following a strange scent that he couldn't quite identify.

There was a painting in the way, but he pushed through the canvas easily. He was still so hungry, and he knew that there was something delicious on the other side.

There was the Weasel, shouting at him and throwing a chair at him. It broke against his side, and Draco roared, wood splinters digging into an arm.

He didn't eat the Weasel, but he did rip him to tiny pieces.

And then there was that smell - the smell that had pulled Draco from his bed and through the castle. The smell that made his mouth water. He reached out and stroked smooth skin, ignoring the way it tensed against his hands. There was screaming, and it hurt his head, so he twisted the head away from the torso and bit in.

In the dream, Harry Potter tasted like sunshine solidified. His warm blood trickled down Draco's throat like honey.

Draco licked the bones clean, making sure not to waste a single drop.

And then in the wreckage of Gryffindor tower, Harry's bones in a neat pile in front of him, he waited to wake up.

Except he never did.

A noise behind him had him turning, slowed thanks to the sleepy heaviness that filled him.

Dumbledore stood on the other side of the ripped portrait hole. "Draco my boy," he rasped, wand arm steady even as his whole body swayed. "What have you done."

A murmured spell, a flash of green light, and Draco knew no more.


End file.
